


There Are No Ex-Marines

by TracedViolet



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24051484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TracedViolet/pseuds/TracedViolet
Summary: Grif and Simmons have a life together after story events. Grif is having a harder time adjusting than Simmons is.
Relationships: Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	There Are No Ex-Marines

**Author's Note:**

> so I only watched up to season 10 so if shit happened since then that doesnt make sense in this story thats why. I'm not really in the fandom anymore. I've just been finding old fics and fixing them up to post but please enjoy.

Grif lay motionless on the couch, letting the soft plush of the comforter he had dragged into the livingroom press into his body. He wished he was comfortable as he appeared but that just wasn't the case and it hadn't been for quite some time. 

he'd never noticed how uncomfortable he'd been back in blood gulch. In comparison to the fighting this was relaxed. However, in this apartment on earth B2, it was anything but. He tossed and turned at night feeling lost and frustrated. of all the places he should feel safe, it should have been here.

The faint sound of jingling keys and a door handle came from the other room. He wondered if he should get up and open the door for his partner, but the thought alone made his body hurt. He was too tired to move but too anxious to rest. The door opened and Simmons dropped some grocery bags on the counter. Grif closed his eyes and pictured the scene from the sounds he could hear. Maybe his imagination would run wild like it used to and drag him away to some actual sleep. instead a presence appeared in front of him and he opened his eyes to see a pair of emerald green ones looking back.

"Are you going to sit here and mope all day or are you going to help me?" the red head pecked the shorter man on the lips and walked back into the kitchen. " You don't get to eat any of it unless you help, fatass!" the term was endearing, but Grif just wasn't in the mood for it.

the brunet groaned and forced himself off the couch , dragging the grey comforter with him. instead of helping through, he just plopped down in one of the barstools at the center island and rested his head on the cold counter top.

Simmons frowned, "seriously Grif, what's wrong with you? you were ok for-"

the younger man abruptly stood up and hugged the dutch irishman rather tightly, leaning against his chest. "I dont.... know...." he mumbled with a bit of anger. not directed at his counterpart but at the question itself. 

As if he hadn't asked himself that same question constantly for the past few months. they should’ve been ok. they should have felt better, safe, happy. Instead Simmons drowned his worries in more work and Grif sat here and contemplated his own existence. He was like a rogue AI left alone for too long. He just thought. That's all he ever did, was think and think and think. He was starting to blur the lines of reality. the nightmares he tried to hide, the feelings of being trapped.  
\----------------------

I'm never going to get out of here! I’m going to die here in this fucking canyon!!

\---------------------

The flashbacks burned through his mind like a wildfire. He knew he was consciously doing it. he knew he could distract himself not to think about it but he forced himself to look anyway. Why? Why did he tourture himself like this?

It was just too much, this nothingness that didn't need his constant analysis. His throat tightened and tears pricked up in his eyes. He had kept such a tight seal on this secret. on these feelings but now they were all spilling out. "It’s-s too much... " he whined. getting only confused "what?" out of the taller man.

"It's too much... It hurts..." the brunet began to cry, his hands balled into fist on Simmons' chest. "I wanna go home. I just wanna go home." and with that he broke down.

The red head wrapped his arms around the younger man as the painful sobs wracked his body. He ran his fingers through Grifs hair offering soosh’s and comfort to the best of his ability. It was as agonizing to see the ex-marine cry as it was for Grif to do it. A single phrase popped into Simmons mind as the pitiful scene unfolded.

There are no ex-marines.


End file.
